


’Tis The Season

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Can be read as OT3, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dress Up, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: Athos is adamant, Porthos is persuasive, everyone knows who the victor will be.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComeHitherAshes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/gifts).



> Dedicated to my fellow wolf for being awesome. (Look, I actually got it finished for Christmas!)
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all!

“Please?”

The big brown eyes accompanying the plea wouldn’t have looked out of place on a puppy, but Athos is not going to be moved but such an obvious ploy.

“No.”

“For me?”

Athos pretends to think about it for a few seconds.

“No.”

“I’ll make it up to you afterwards.” The eyes take on a gleam of playful suggestion but Athos just shakes his head. It isn’t going to work.

“You know very well I don’t respond to bribery, Porthos.”

Porthos harrumphs unhappily then brightens again as he switches tactics.

“Think of all the kids you’ll be disappointing.”

Porthos knows that an appeal to his well-hidden altruistic spirit stands a good chance of working, but no. He won’t be so easily swayed. Not this time.

“Life is full of disappointment, a lesson it will stand them well to learn early.”

Porthos frowns. “You’re not foolin’ me. I know you ain’t really that heartless.”

“Perhaps not. But my answer is still no.”

Porthos’s bottom lip juts out in an honest-to-god pout and Athos has to turn away, his resolve in danger of weakening.

* * * *

“Aramis and d’Artagnan are doin’ it.”

Athos arches an eyebrow, deliberately misunderstanding.

“You know what I mean,” Porthos says with a scowl. “They’re joinin’ in.”

Ah. Athos had known better than to think the matter resolved, but had hoped for a few more days of reprieve before the next attempt at gentle coercion.

“Aramis and d’Artagnan enjoy dressing up and making fools of themselves. I, however, do not.”

“Not even for a good cause?”

“When I agreed to help, which I am more than happy to do, I envisaged something more along the lines of handing out refreshments.”

“All taken care of.”

“Perhaps I could swap with Constance.”

Porthos clucks his tongue in frustration. “And perhaps I’ll withhold all favours, too.” Porthos’s lips are suddenly right beside Athos’s ear, warm breath ghosting across his skin. “ _All_ favours.”

For all his heart, Porthos can be a cruel bastard sometimes. It’s a struggle to maintain neutral indifference.

“I’ll survive.”

They both know it’s an empty threat, that Porthos would be the first to cave. Athos is nothing if not stubborn.

Porthos sulks for the rest of the day.

* * * *

“Just think how good it’ll feel after, when you get to take it off.” Porthos nods encouragingly at his own logic.

“It would feel even better to have not put it on at all.” Athos believes his argument has surely won this battle of logic, but Porthos has an ace hidden up his sleeve.

“Might be hard to get hold of that zip. Probably need some help.”

Athos ignores the brush of fingertips across the nape of his neck, tensing to suppress the shiver that threatens to dance down his spine. Judging by Porthos’s grin, he’s not altogether successful.

“It won’t be at all difficult if I am not wearing it.” If his voice sounds a little strained he’s ready to blame his exasperation.

Ignoring him, Porthos trails his finger from the top button of Athos’s shirt to the waistband of his trousers. He pauses there, fixes Athos with a heated stare.

“You’ve still got two days to change your mind.”

Athos wants to insist that there’s no way in hell he will capitulate, but can’t seem to find his voice. Instead, he gives Porthos his most unamused glare, cursing him silently.

It does nothing to dent Porthos’s grin.

* * * *

Despite the many rounds of pleas and refusals, however, they have both always known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Athos was always going to give in. For he’s never been able to deny Porthos anything, especially when it’s all for a good cause. And so it is with a sense of resigned inevitability that, come Christmas eve, Athos finds himself trussed up in a reindeer onesie affair, complete with little tufty tail, antlers atop his head, and a goddamned red nose.

He feels as ridiculous as he looks.

Grumpily passing the refreshment table with its spread of festive treats, Athos envies Constance her Christmas jumper and Santa hat, an outfit he, for once, wouldn’t bemoan wearing.

There is one upside. At least he’s not an elf.

Catching sight of him, Aramis bounds over wearing a grin that perfectly compliments his costume. Bright green tights, matching felt tunic with a red collar, curly toed scarlet shoes, and a floppy hat with a dangling bell to top it all off. And, really, only Aramis can wear such an ensemble and still manage to look devastatingly handsome.

He slings an arm around Athos’s shoulders. “You look—”

“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘cute’, I will ram an antler somewhere distinctly uncomfortable.”

“Adorable!” Aramis concludes in spite of Athos’s glare. “Cheer up! You’re supposed to be Rudolph, not the Grinch.”

“Would you like me to stand in the corner and munch on some hay?”

“No,” Aramis laughs, unfazed. “Just stop glowering. You’ll scare the kids.”

With that, he flashes another grin, pushes his hat to a suitably jaunty angle, and sets off to prise d’Artagnan away from Constance so they can gather their guests in preparation for the main event.

Immediately Porthos makes his grand entry, Athos forgets his discomfort.

He’s a spectacular sight in padded red coat with fur trim around the cuffs and collar, big black boots, furred hat, and, of course, the white beard. But it’s the broad smile, the twinkle in his eyes, and the way he cheerily greets the assembled foster kids and young carers that really make him the perfect embodiment of the character.

Athos is surrounded by happy, smiling faces, and there’s no way his grumpy mood can persist in the face of such high spirits, despite even the cheesy music playing in the background. The good cheer is infectious, the sight of Porthos making the children laugh heart-warming, and he can’t help but smile.

It’s at that precise moment that Porthos looks up, catches his eye, and the grin that flashes wide and bright tells Athos he’s been caught out.

He doesn't mind.

* * * *

And now, as Athos does indeed struggle to grasp the little zipper with his cumbersome built-in hoof mittens, a fresh-from-the-shower Porthos steps up behind him and bats his hand away.

Athos sighs impatiently as Porthos pauses, more than ready to shed his deer persona, but then Porthos leans close, presses a kiss to his hair.

“Thank you for today. I know you hated it.”

Athos shakes his head. "I didn’t hate it." He turns so he can see Porthos. “It was a fantastic day. Everything you organised...the children loved it.” He’s not sure how to adequately express his pride, so opts for the simple truth. “You’re a good man, Porthos. Incredible.”

“Nah.” Porthos scrunches his nose, bashful at the praise, modest as ever. “Just know what it’s like, don’t I? Feeling alone this time of year when you’re a kid.” Rather than feeling sorry for himself, however, Porthos smiles and runs a hand down Athos’s furry side. “Besides, I had a lot of help.”

“Oh, yes,” Athos drawls, feeling a little ashamed of his initial reluctance when he had known the reason behind it all. “I’m sure all my complaining was of great assistance.”

“You were brilliant, once you stopped being Scrooge and became Rudolph.”

“That was thanks to you.” Once Athos had stopped worrying about what a berk he looked, he had thrown himself into the celebrations alongside Porthos and the others; playing games with the kids, giving the younger ones piggyback rides, and pretending to scold Porthos every time he purloined another handful of mince pies. And hadn’t it always been true that his friends brought out the best in him? “I am, however, now quite ready to get out of this thing.”

Porthos’s smile morphs into a mischievous grin. “Well, I ain’t gonna say no to openin’ a present early."

Athos rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, but makes no word of complaint as Porthos undresses him.

After all, ’tis the season.


End file.
